


The Common Miracle

by CatHeights



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The D-tab that's slipped into his palm is the only sort of miracle Miguel understands—commonplace and destructive. A post-season 6 story written for the Oz Magi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Common Miracle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawandrain](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=strawandrain).



> Sections of this story deal with Alvarez's claustrophobia, and a fear of being buried alive.

1  
***

"Come on baby."

Torquemada presses a hand against his back, and the touch is an explosion of warmth. His heart pounds with the desire to blend into that touch. A rush of exhilaration makes him shudder as he realizes he can drown in the feel of warmth. There's no thought as to whom the touch belongs, just this flight of feeling.

"Here. Have another."

Miguel feels a finger slide over his lip, a soft graze slipping the D-Tab inside. He swallows it willingly, sucking on the finger that delivers to him oblivion.

The touch is removed, and Miguel groans with a need so strong he can't find words.

"You want my touch." Torquemada's breath is short bursts of heat against his neck. "Tell me you want it."

"Yes, I want it."

"Say pretty please."

"Pretty please. Anything, please."

Torquemada rests his hand lightly on the back of Miguel's neck. "Okay, but only because you asked so nicely, sugar."

So far this is how Torquemada rolls, only offering the barest of touches, almost a tormented tease of connection, which is fine because in his brief rational moments, Miguel knows he wants no true connection with Torquemada. Besides even this torture is a form of bliss because it blocks out any thought of walls and failed paroles, and a world outside that he'll never taste again.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

The words reverberate, a rapture of sound echoing in a darkness of color. Yes, this nothingness is beautiful. It devours him, a living entity that swallows all that he is, until he too is just dark color and raw sound.

2  
***

A cell meant for two, but holding three men is a recipe for violence. Ryan eyes the man lying on the cot squeezed against the wall. When he introduced himself, the muscular, pitted-faced asshole hadn't said a word only giving him a dismissive glance and taking the cot across from the two stacked bunk style. Still, despite the tension and small space, this is a hell of a lot better then the days he spent packed like a goddamn sardine in Littlewood Penitentiary's gymnasium. This place made Em City seem like paradise.

He'd run into Beecher briefly in the gymnasium, before they'd shuttled him off to fuck knows where. Beecher had glanced around at the rows of men and nervous guards, and the crazy bastard had laughed and said, "Keller." Ryan hadn't needed any additional explanation. Of course Keller had been responsible for the Oz evacuation. Taking out the Aryans must have been some final melodramatic love letter to Beecher. Fucked up shit between the two of them right down to the end.

Nothing to be done, but what he always did, watch, survive and stay on top. And hope the fuck they transfer them all back to Oz before this powder keg blows. Normally he'd consider Alvarez sharing a cell with him to put odds in his favor if tension sparked. Except Alvarez hasn't said a word since the cell door shut.

Ryan walks over to the bottom bunk and sits next to Alvarez who has his knees pressed against his chest and his head resting on them. "Yo, Alvarez." He gets no response. Frowning, Ryan slowly moves his hand and gives Alvarez's arm a light shake.

The movement gets the other man to raise his head. His shadowed eyes struggle to focus. "O'Reily?"

"Yeah." Ryan shoots a sharp gaze at nameless fuck before whispering, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Just leave me alone." Alvarez puts his head back on his knees. "Tired." The word comes out sounding like he swallowed gravel.

Ryan gets up, shaking his head in disgust. Alvarez has obviously been taking far too many rides on the Torquemada psychedelic express and can no longer function once the ride's over, and the mind realizes the bliss is just another damn con. What a waste. Alvarez is useless to him. Despite that assessment, later when he climbs into his bunk for the night, he can't help pausing for a moment and staring in concern. Alvarez hasn't moved. He's still sitting there, head bent, body curled around his knees.

In the morning, when he finds Alvarez in the same position, he decides he's had enough of witnessing this crap. His jaw clenched, Ryan climbs onto the bottom bunk and shoves the other man. Alvarez's eyes open as he starts to tumble over. He instinctively tries to right himself, but cramped muscles don't respond, and Ryan reaches for him when he starts to tumble off the bunk. "Shit. Easy there," he says as he helps Alvarez to a sitting position with his feet on the floor.

Alvarez rubs a hand across his eyes. "Thanks." His voice is barely audible.

"Come on. Stand up. I can hear the hacks starting to make the rounds to let us out for showers and breakfast." His tone is the same as he once used with Cyril, patient but firm. Surprisingly it seems to work on Alvarez as he gets up and begins to get ready to leave the cell for their brief morning reprieve. Nameless fuck watches them curiously, and Ryan glares.

Over the next few days whenever they're out of their cell, Ryan makes sure Alvarez is close by him. He's not sure why he's watching out for Alvarez. Maybe it's instinct. He did it for Cyril for so long. And Christ, he doesn't even want to think about Cyril in this overcrowded hell hole, can't afford to think about him, that loss, at all. The distraction could be deadly.

He tells Alvarez what to do, and the other man seems to appreciate the instruction, or at least he follows whatever Ryan says without question. Of course he barely talks at all. Ryan can tell his condition is getting worse. Sometimes his dead eyes become anxious constantly scanning the room, and Ryan's sure it's not because he's trying to ascertain a threat. No, Alvarez isn't truly aware of his surroundings. Left alone, Ryan can guarantee he wouldn't survive to the end of the day.

However, there are other times when he scans the room, where it's less anxious and more desperate hopefulness, and then Ryan's sure he's trying to find Torquemada. He hasn't a clue where they sent the sick fuck, but he hopes it's somewhere without a return to sender.

Even though he's seen the signs of Alvarez's growing agitation, he's still not ready for the meltdown when it comes. He wakes in the middle of the night to his bunk shaking. "Alvarez?" No answer, just the sound of panting.

He jumps down, and his mouth drops open. Alvarez is scraping at the bottom bunk, as if he's digging. "What the fuck?" He grabs Alvarez's wrist, wincing as he realizes his fingers are bloody. "Stop."

Alvarez freezes, leaning toward Ryan. "Help me, man. We have to get out of here before they finish."

"Finish what?"

"Burying us. That's how they're getting rid of us. That's why we're here."

"We're here because Keller can't give Beecher normal fucking gifts."

Alvarez continues as if he hadn't heard. "It wasn't an evacuation. They want to start over in Em City, so they needed us all gone. One mass grave, buried alive. "

"You had a nightmare. A fucking doozy of one. But you're awake now." Ryan puts a hand on Alvarez's elbow. "Clean your hands up."

But Alvarez isn't listening this time. He pushes away from Ryan, a litany issuing from his mouth. "No, no, no, no, no." He wipes his arms and then his feet.

"What?"

"Can't you feel it, the dirt? They're dropping dirt on us."

Ryan has no idea what to say. He's way out of his fucking league here. Of course, this would be the moment their normally silent cellmate—whose name is George Pie of all things, no wonder he doesn't offer it up—decides to speak. "Tell that crazy fucker to shut up."

"Why don't you shut your pie hole."

Pie stands, and Ryan realizes he should have kept his mouth shut. "Shit." He stands up as well. "Let's take it easy. I think...."

Ryan doesn't get to finish speaking as Alvarez suddenly bounces off the bunk and lunges at Pie, yelling in Spanish. Pie decks him, and Alvarez falls to the floor, but he comes right back up, and just when Ryan is sure that after days of expecting the powder keg to blow elsewhere, it's going to fucking blow here, Alvarez starts to scream. A god awful sound that sends chills down Ryan's spine and stops Pie in his tracks. Alvarez falls to his knees, the sound warbling, but not stopping, and Ryan thinks if it doesn't stop soon, it'll drive him mad.

The hacks come running, and Ryan and Pie are pushed out of the way as Alvarez is dragged out of the cell. He won't see Alvarez again until they're back in Em City, but that scream haunts him.

3  
***

Sometimes when the drugs wear off, the feeling of isolation is so great it's like a suffocating blanket. He hasn't reached that point yet, but beneath his lethargy is a small thread of panic that it will get to that point, which is ridiculous because Torquemada will be back in a little while, D-tabs appearing like magic in his fingers. He's always there to pull Miguel back from the ledge of feeling, except he wasn't there in Littlewood. Somewhere deep down there's a thread of disgust at what he's come to, at his neediness, but it's too much effort to maintain that disgust.

As he steps down the stairs, he sees O'Reily waving him over to a table where he's playing cards with Beecher and Rebadow. Miguel pauses. He hasn't talked to O'Reily since Littlewood. While he recalls very little of the night he had a breakdown, he does recall the days before, and O'Reily for some reason looking out for him. He's sure there's a damn good chance he'd be dead if it wasn't for the other man. If he had the energy, he might curse him for that. What the hell, might as well go over. Pass the time until Torquemada's back.

Beecher's shuffling cards. "You want in?"

"Nah." Miguel leans back in his chair and watches with eyes half closed as the cards are dealt.

O'Reily glances at his cards and then looks at Miguel. "You look like shit."

Beecher snorts and shakes his head.

Miguel doesn't respond. He just shrugs.

"What are you doing Alvarez? You're a fucking zombie."

"So what?" A small spark of anger stirs in his gut. "What do we got to look forward to? It's the same shit day in and day out. Only hope you and I have of getting out of Oz is if they send us someplace even worse. Ain't no miracles in Oz."

"Actually statistically even in Oz, there would have to be miracles," Rebadow says, drawing everyone's attention to him.

"What do you mean?" Beecher asks.

"Well, according to Littlewood, you can expect a miracle at least once within the span of 35 days."

"Littlewood? What's that hellhole got to do with miracles?" Ryan's face reflects the same confusion Miguel feels.

"Of course." Beecher nods. "The name choice for Littlewood penitentiary is rather interesting. Littlewood was a British mathematician. Most of his work was in mathematical analysis. He wanted to debunk the idea of a miracle being supernatural. The outrageous is bound to happen based on the law of averages."

"So there ain't no miracles," Miguel says.

"I wouldn't say that." Rebadow puts down his cards. "While statistically, Littlewood may have proved miracles happen more often than one would expect, I don't think that necessarily disproves the supernatural aspect to them. He may have gotten the facts, but I don't think he got it all right."

"No, I think he got it right. Only fools believe in miracles, because God don't give a crap about guys like us." His anger fades, and Miguel feels so incredibly tired.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a familiar swagger and sits up as he sees Torquemada enter the area. He leaves without a word, feeling O'Reily's eyes follow him. But he doesn't give a damn what they say about him. He doesn't want to think or feel at all.

The smile Torquemada gives him is what resembles hope for him these days.

"Hey there beautiful." Torquemada extends his hand, and Miguel takes it letting himself be pulled closer. The D-tab that's slipped into his palm is the only sort of miracle he understands—commonplace and destructive.

4  
***

Ryan yanks open the dryer, dumping the clothes inside into his basket. "I've seen Torquemada's type before—he gets off on this slow death shit. Goddamn human vampire. What the fuck is Alvarez thinking?"

"That he can't stand the thought of being locked in here anymore." Beecher shrugs, gaze distant, as he folds his laundry. "You manage to get outside these walls, only to find yourself pulled back in again, it's even more oppressive. I don't think he ever got past being recaptured after he escaped. I guess he's decided at least he can let his mind be free."

"It ain't freeing. It's a fucking death wish."

"I know. What I can't figure out is why you care?" Beecher stares at him, but Ryan doesn't answer, face blank. "So, any word from Dr. Nathan?"

"No." Ryan gets the message. Beecher thinks his sudden interest in Alvarez is because Gloria's dropped off the radar—all he could get from Sister Pete was that she had gotten another position. Who knows, maybe that is the reason, but so what? It doesn't change the fact Torquemada is a fucking creep.

Ryan shakes his head. It's pointless discussing this with Beecher. He grabs his basket and leaves. Of course, when he goes to head back to his pod, what does he see but Torquemada leaning over Alvarez, whispering in his ear, so close it looks like he's tonguing him. Ryan shudders.

As he climbs the stairs, Torquemada comes down them. He pauses blocking Ryan's way. "Is there something I can do for you, sugar? I notice you've been watching me a lot lately."

"Watching? No. I'd actually prefer not to have to witness your floor show."

"He's beautiful isn't he? Particularly now when his whole world is narrowed to the peace only I can provide."

"Get out of my way, you sick fuck." Ryan shoves past Torquemada, knowing as he hears the laughter behind him that he just made a stupid move, letting the bastard get to him like that.

He glances at Alvarez, who's still hanging over the railing, completely spaced out. Ryan doubts he even noticed the exchange that just went down. Alvarez is never going to break from Torquemada's control on his own. And whatever the reason may be for his obsession with Alvarez's well being, it can't go on like this. He can't let someone like Torquemada have an edge over him. Something has to be done.

The answer is simple. It's the same way he got over addiction years ago—the Hole.

Ryan puts his laundry in his pod and watches Alvarez. He's positive by the way Alvarez has his hand in his pocket that Torquemada slipped him something. One of Alvarez's hands is clinging to the railing, as if he's forcing himself to wait. And it strikes Ryan that's exactly what he's doing—waiting because that's what game that bastard told him to play.

As he looks down, he sees the new hack, Williams, standing below, as well as Beecher returning from the laundry room. The plan falls into place. Ryan goes down to sit at a table near Williams and waves Beecher over. Alvarez is still by the railing.

Beecher sits down and gives Ryan a questioning look.

"What?"

"Nothing." Beecher shrugs. "I just had gotten the idea you were pissed at me."

"Nah. So listen, did you see Torquemada's little display a few minutes ago?"

"So we're on that again. No, I think I missed it."

"Be glad you did. It was disgusting. And I'm sure he slipped Alvarez some more of his precious D-Tabs."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan sees Williams freeze and then begin heading up the stairs toward Murphy. Alvarez turns just about the same time, but he is only to the door of his pod when the word "shakedown" is shouted.

Bingo. His lips start to curve in a pleased smile, but the motion halts as he realizes Alvarez is fighting the hacks. He's struggling like he's demon possessed. Ryan can hear his shouts of "no, no, no, no."

For a second he's afraid that Alvarez is going to start screaming, making that awful sound, but instead he keeps yelling "no," as the hacks drag him away. Belatedly, he remembers what Alvarez kept saying that night in Littlewood—that they were being buried alive. And he just had him sent to the Hole.

Fuck.

"Remind me if you ever start to show concern for my well being to be very afraid."

Beecher walks off, and Ryan closes his eyes, wondering just how bad of a fuck up this might be.

5  
***

_Don't think. Don't think._

Miguel sits on the cold floor, arms wrapped around his knees, and rocks. His head jerks up as he swears he hears the sound of a shovel. He forces his eyes closed and presses his forehead to his knees. Not real. All he needs to do is keep his mind blank. He's not sure how much time has gone by, but eventually someone will come for him. They don't keep you in the Hole forever.

Except, maybe they do. Maybe they're never gonna let him out.

_Don't think. Don't think._

Something hits his arm, but Miguel refuses to look, instead clutching his knees so tight that his arms shake. It hits his neck, trickling down his back. Another drop lands on his arm. His breathing is coming in short gasps, chest feeling like it's going to burst. Whatever is falling on him hits his face, sliding down his nose and into his mouth. And now he can taste it—dirt—and he can't block it out any longer. He uncurls, swiping at his face and turning to face the wall, where he starts to dig.

The wall is an immovable force, but Miguel doesn't notice that his efforts make no dent. He's grunting as he attacks with determination, fingers starting to bloody. When his hands don't seem to be enough, he throws his body against the wall. He'll break through. His grunts turn to harsh yelling that draws the attentions of the guards. He's oblivious as they come up behind him, restraining him and pulling him back from the wall.

Miguel can't hear them, nor can he feel them. There's too much dirt. He can't breathe. Darkness descends on him with suffocating slowness.

6  
***

"I should have seen this coming." McManus looks toward the ceiling, shaking his head.

"I don't think there's anything you could have done to stop this. Alvarez has been on a downward spiral since the parole hearing."

"And who's fault is that? Damn that Ruiz." McManus storms off, and as Murphy heads toward the guard tower, Ryan makes sure their paths cross.

"O'Reily?"

"Listen, I, uh, heard you and McManus talking. Did something happen to Alvarez?" That's not really the question Ryan wants to ask. He already knows something happened to Alvarez. He's known since he'd finished his shift in the infirmary, and the hacks hustled him out amidst some sort of commotion.

"It's none of your concern." Murphy starts to walk around him to the stairs.

"Wait. Hey, can't you just tell me if he's okay?"

Murphy crosses his arms and his gaze narrows. "What are you up to? I gotta tell you, this sudden concern for Alvarez seems a bit odd."

"Me? Up to something? No, it's an honest question."

"Yeah, your motives are always pure and upstanding. Why O'Reily?"

"We were cellmates in Littlewood." Ryan hopes that will be enough to get Murphy to spill.

"So you watched his back. He watched yours." Murphy nods. "You owe him?"

"No."

Murphy still looks suspicious, but nonetheless he answers. "He had a bit of a freakout in the Hole. Did a number on himself, but he'll be fine. That good enough for you?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"I find out you're up to something...."

"Cross my heart." Ryan does so. "Trust me. I've got nothing against Alvarez."

"Right, if you say so. All right it's time for you all to say nighty night." Murphy makes his way to the guard station and then calls out, "Count."

It's a long night as Ryan can't stop his mind from wondering what "doing a number on himself" actually entails. It's far too easy to imagine the level of self-violence Alvarez is capable of. Fucking stupid idea to get him thrown in the Hole. He wishes he had more details, but he knew he wasn't getting anything more from Murphy except increased suspicion. Nothing to be done but wait until he can see Alvarez for himself.

Time continues to crawl as a new day begins. The wait for his infirmary shift to start puts him on edge, making him snap at other inmates. When he finally can make his way to where Alvarez is recuperating, Ryan stares appalled.

Alvarez is curled on his side. Several of his fingers are bandaged. His arms and hands are a patchwork of bruises, and his lip is split. There's an IV in one hand, which makes sense as Alvarez wasn't on the meal list, but Ryan winces as he thinks of putting an IV in amidst all that bruising. His stomach churns. He did this. He should have thought this through more. But what else could he have done? It's goddamn fucking Torquemada's fault. He wishes he could talk to Alvarez, but he has just enough sense to realize waking him would be a cruelty. Let him sleep through as much of this as he can.

As he's about to leave, Alvarez's eyes open. "O'Reily?" His voice sounds thick and hoarse.

"Hey."

While Alvarez's eyes are a bit glazed, they don't have the heavily drugged looked he's expecting. A wince of pain crosses Alvarez's face, and then his eyes start to dart around anxiously. Cheap fucking bastards. Whatever medication they've given him it isn't enough to keep back the demons or handle the pain. Ryan steps closer. He starts to rest a hand on Alvarez's arm, but then stops. There's no safe place to touch. "It's all right. You're okay. Just sleep."

Alvarez takes a deep breath and then his eyes close. Ryan watches for a few minutes more, the even sound of Alvarez's breathing calming some of the previous night's turmoil.

His next visit goes by without any recognition from Alvarez. He's out cold. But the day after when he arrives for his shift, Alvarez is listed on the food distribution list. He makes sure he's the one delivering.

"Lunch," Ryan says as he puts the tray down.

"Thanks." Alvarez's eyes are closed, but he opens them, looking surprised as Ryan pulls over a chair and sits down.

"You should eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"They ain't letting you out of the infirmary if you don't eat."

"So." But Alvarez picks up the fork.

"You uh need some help?"

"No." The word is issued in a flat tone, no anger or any emotion in it. While Alvarez struggles with using the fork, he seems to have it under control. However after a few bites, he puts down the fork and pushes the tray away.

Ryan stretches his legs in front of him. "So when you were out hitching your way to freedom, you stop anywhere along the way?"

"That's just low, O'Reily. You think you need to remind me of how I was out back then, sky free and clear above me, and I fucked it up."

"Hey man, no." Ryan sat up. "At least you went cross country. Like I told you, me, I ain't never been. And it sure as shit looks like I ain't never gonna get to. I just wanna know what it was like. Must be some place you remember stopping."

Alvarez stares for a moment and then says, "Stopped for a bit in Memphis."

"Yeah?"

"Beale Street—one big ass party."

"I bet. You try out some of that famous BBQ?"

"Shit yeah." Alvarez rubbed his stomach and grinned. "Delicious."

Ryan laughs. The memory is obviously a good one for Alvarez as Ryan can't remember the last time he looked this alive, happy almost. It's a good look on him.

"When I hitched my way in, told them I was in a blues band."

"And they believed that?" Ryan looks skeptical.

"Told ya man, people wanna believe." Alvarez yawns and his eyes slowly close. Exhaustion is clear in the circles beneath his eyes and the tightness around his mouth.

Ryan moves the tray out of the way, but leaves it where Alvarez can reach it if he changes his mind and wants more to eat. "Well, duty calls, gotta finish my rounds. Get some sleep. I'll see ya."

Alvarez opens his eyes. "O'Reily."

"Yeah?" Ryan frowns. Alvarez's eyes have that dull, dead look to them again.

"I...." Alvarez shakes his head. "Nothing. I'll see you around."

He wishes he had a clue as to what Alvarez wants to say but ain't spitting out. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Right of course, you work here." Alvarez bites his bottom lip, wincing as he tugs at the cut there.

"Tomorrow," Ryan says. He tries to make the word sound as he means it—a promise. If the slight smile curving Alvarez's lips and the ease of the darkness in his eyes are anything to go by, he's succeeded. Ryan leaves with a smile on his face as well.

7  
***

"Wake up sleeping beauty."

That voice is right out of a nightmare, and of course when he opens his eyes, the sight that greets him is even worse than the voice—Torquemada with a hand on his arm. His life is one fucking nightmare.

"Get your damn hand off me. What are you doing here?"

"Aw, don't be like that. I've missed you. Missed the way you respond to my touch."

Torquemada reaches out a finger toward Miguel's face, and he jerks away. "I said, don't fucking touch me." His stomach churns as that creepy white eye stares at him as if it can see inside him, see his weakness, which of course it can, did. How could he have been so stupid as to let this bastard get inside his head?

"You're tense. But I can help you with that, baby." He moves in close and holds up a small pill bottle between his fingers, shaking it lightly.

Miguel's heart pounds and his muscles shake. He pushes as far away from Torquemada as he can get on the narrow bed. "No. I'm done." The sickening thing is that there's a part of him that wants to reach out his hand and take the damn D-Tab, to forget again. Because, really, nothing has changed. It would be so easy.

"No, I don't think you are." Torquemada puts both hands on the bed, black finger nails looking like claws. He gazes down at Miguel as if he's some fascinating specimen. "I know you my Miguel. I know the need you have to punish yourself." He removes one hand from the bed and presses it to his chest. "It breaks my heart. You know what you want, what I can give you—freedom from yourself. Don't you deserve that? You know it's much easier when you give yourself over to me."

"Get out!" Miguel hisses the words through clenched teeth. Tension coils through his body. He clutches at the sheets, trying to control himself. Anger constricts his throat, and he knows he's seconds away from trying to rip that disgusting tongue from Torquemada's mouth. Hysterical laughter bubbles up. He's going to end up in solitary once again. Same damn cycle.

"Torquemada. What are you doing here?"

Miguel jumps at the sound of Officer Murphy's voice. He'd almost forgotten the world existed outside of he and Torquemada.

Extending both hands in front of him, Torquemada says, "Just saying hello."

Miguel idly wonders how Torquemada managed to pocket the bottle of D-Tabs so quickly.

"Yeah, well social hour is over. Get the hell out of here."

Murphy watches Torquemada leave and then turns toward the bed. "Alvarez, you okay?"

"Yeah."

He realizes he's still clutching the sheet and forces himself to relax, aware of Murphy's skeptical gaze. Last thing he wants is another visit from McManus.

"All right then." Murphy gives him another look that he can't quite place, and then glances behind with a shake of his head. "Damn, if I can figure this one out," he mutters as he walks off. Miguel stares after him in confusion.

He barely has time to get his breathing under control before O'Reily is standing by his bed, asking, "You okay?"

"Yeah." Miguel knows O'Reily must have been responsible for Murphy showing up. The Irishman has stopped to talk to him every day. Those visits have been the only thing keeping him sane, so he hasn't wanted to question why O'Reily's bothering, except right now, he can't help trying to figure out what he gains from being here.

"What game are you playing, O'Reily?"

"Huh?"

"I may do stupid things, but I ain't dumb. You've got a reason for being here." He's so damn tired of playing these games.

"No, bro. I'm just killing time. I know how boring it gets in here. Figured you could use the company." O'Reily pulls a chair closer and straddles it. "Don't let that bastard get to you."

Alvarez laughs. Who's he kidding? "You know I already did. You see everything. You know Torquemada had me taking those damn D-Tabs right from his fingers."

"Hey, you went through a rough spell."

"Yeah. Whole damn life."

"It was just the drugs?" O'Reily looks as if the question is distasteful, but he can't help asking anyway.

"You asking if he fucked me? No, that would be too common. His fucking words. According to him, he's a virgin. Never fucked 'man, woman, fish or fowl.' "

"Are you shitting me?" O'Reily shook his head. "Crazy motherfuckin' bastard."

"Said he wanted to be me. And I thought why the fuck not? I didn't want to be me." He's not sure why he's confessing this to O'Reily, or why O'Reily seems to be listening as if he cares.

O'Reily touches his arm. "He can't make things better for you."

"No shit." Alvarez gives O'Reily a small smile.

"I'm not try to mess with you, man"

"Okay." God help him, he believes him. Maybe he is dumb or completely loco for trusting O'Reily, but fuck he's made worse mistakes. And he doesn't feel so goddamn alone when O'Reily's here, so why not buy into this illusion for a little while. He's like every other pathetic soul on this planet—he just wants to believe in something. Besides at least if O'Reily screws him over, he'll definitely end up dead.

8  
***

He's out of control, but there doesn't seem to be fuck all he can do about it. Torquemada visiting Alvarez in the infirmary set him right over the edge. Every time he thinks about that ghoul lurking over Alvarez's bedside, shaking his goddamn bottle, he sees red. It doesn't help that every one of his plans to get rid of the bastard have fallen flat. Even worse, Torquemada is definitely aware of what Ryan's been trying to do, and he's enjoying the game.

The smug bastard has taken to stopping in Ryan's doorway, just like he's doing right now. "Piss off. Take your goddamn fairy ass somewhere else."

"I'm hurt." He puts a hand over his heart. "I come here as a public service to offer you some info, and I get insults. I'll just have to rise above it. Gardner's dead. Now, don't scowl so much. It'll give you wrinkles." Torquemada gives a wave and sashays off.

"Fuck." It's not surprising. Gardner had been so easy to manipulate. All it had taken to set him off was initiating some whisper down the lane that Torquemada had been telling people Gardner was a closet fag. However, while Gardner was violent, he also was a moron, and Ryan knew there had been no way to determine if his anger would detonate successfully at his target. He slammed his hand down on the bed. "Dammit!" He was running out of options.

As he heads to the infirmary for his work detail, his mind keeps spinning potential schemes and discarding them. The preoccupation stays with him until he finally gets a chance to sneak away and visit Alvarez. For a few moments, the greeting smile he gets wipes away all thoughts of schemes. Somehow seeing Alvarez smile has become the highlight of his day. But today even that moment is marred by Torquemada because he can't help thinking that soon Alvarez will be released back to Em City where he'll have to deal with that bastard and his fucking D-Tabs every day.

"Yo, O'Reily, you in there?"

"What?"

"You okay? You spaced."

"Yeah, fine," Ryan says as he sits down.

Alvarez doesn't look convinced. "What's going down?"

"Nothing to worry about."

"Torquemada." Alvarez shakes his head. "Man, you're going after him."

He doesn't bother to deny it, because Alvarez isn't going to fall for whatever line he tries to sell. Plus for some reason, he can't bring himself to lie to Alvarez about this. So he stays silent.

"O'Reily, I've seen you work. When it comes to aligning the cards in your favor, you're one of the best. But you know what? For all his over the top ways, Torquemada ain't no lightweight. He's a master at the mind fuck. Every damn word he utters is a manipulation."

"I know." If it had been anyone else, Ryan would have already been dancing over his grave. "But in the end, I'll be better." Ryan grins, but Alvarez isn't amused.

"If you're bringing him down, I want in."

Ryan leans forward and stares at Alvarez. There's a steely look to his gaze, anger barely concealed. It's about time he's finally pissed at Torquemada. He doesn't blame Alvarez for wanting to bring Torquemada down. It might be what Alvarez needs to do to get back on track, and together they might have better luck. It's not a bad idea. "Probably could use someone watching my back."

"I got your back. And I ain't got no problem with taking him down. We do it together."

"Deal," Ryan says with a nod.

When he leaves, Alvarez is distant, a frown on his face, and the sight bothers Ryan, fueling his anger at Torquemada even more.

Of course when he enters Em City, his gaze immediately finds Torquemada. He's standing under the stairs with what looks to be a very unhappy customer. It's the new junkie in town, Marcus, who's thin as a rail and always has a desperate air about him. Two of Torquemada's boys are standing behind him, looking bored.

It happens so fast that Ryan's not even sure he saw a shank, except Torquemada has dropped to his knees, hand at his neck, blood spurting. His goons have taken down Marcus. A little fucking late.

"Lockdown!"

Ryan doesn't move. He needs to know if the bastard is going to survive. It's only moments before the hacks shove him toward the stairwell, but as he's heading away, he sees Torquemada's hand fall from his neck. Ryan's seen a lot of fuckers die, and it sure looks like this asshole may have finally bit the dust.

As the door to his pod seals shut, Ryan can't help thinking this is too good to be true. A goddamn miracle.

Please, he thinks, let that fucker die.

9  
***

Torquemada is dead. Father Mukada has just left after sharing that bit of surprising news, and Miguel struggles to sort through his swirling emotions. What does he feel? Relief, satisfaction—yes—but those seem minor compared to the growing feeling of anger. O'Reily had agreed they would handle this together. What if things hadn't gone down as O'Reily planned and Torquemada survived? The Irishman would be the one dead right now. Miguel's throat constricts, and he swallows hard. Stupid, so stupid.

When O'Reily comes to visit, he's practically bouncing with excitement. Grin wide and wicked, he says, "You heard the news?"

"Yeah."

At Miguel's dull response, O'Reily's grin fades. "Ya know, I woulda thought you'd be, I don't know, just a little fucking pleased at recent events."

"It was dangerous."

"Oz is dangerous. But what the hell are you talking about?"

"You know." Miguel glances around to see who is near by before he continues in a soft but angry tone. "We were supposed to take care of it together."

Comprehension shows on O'Reily's face. "You think I'm responsible? I wish. Trust me if one of my many plans had actually brought down that asshole, I'd have shared the good news with you."

"Truth?"

"Truth, man. After I left yesterday, I saw Torquemada under the stairwell with a pissed off customer. No clue just how pissed off until I saw Torquemada on his knees, neck spurting blood. Wasn't sure until this morning that he was actually dead, even if it sure as fuck looked like it. With the number of times I tried to get him airholed, it was a goddamn miracle." Ryan grins. "I credit a bit of Irish luck."

"Ain't no luck in here." Miguel shakes his head, but he's smiling.

"When they letting you out?

"Should be this afternoon."

"O'Reily, it's called a work detail because we expect you to actually, you know, work." Despite the sarcasm, Murphy's tone is oddly tolerant.

"I'm leaving," O'Reily says to Murphy. "See ya later, Alvarez."

Miguel stares after O'Reily until he's out of view. He realizes Murphy is still standing there, watching him. He shrugs his shoulders, and Murphy rolls his eyes, but he's smiling as he walks away. Huh? Murphy's been behaving strangely lately.

He's released from the infirmary pretty much on schedule. As he steps into Em City, eyes taking in the line of pods, the claustrophobic feeling sneaks up on him unexpectedly. He's going to spend the majority of the hours of his life locked in box with a view, if he's lucky, and if not lucky he'll die in solitary like his grandfather. His breath catches in his throat, but before the panic can take hold, a familiar voice pulls him from his thoughts.

"Hey, just in time for dinner."

"Hey." Miguel releases the caught breath. Man is he glad to see O'Reily.

"You need to stop off at your pod for anything? I'm starving."

"Nah, I'm good. Let's go."

When they sit down, they're joined by Busmalis, Rebadow and Beecher.

"Welcome back Miguel," Rebadow says as he puts down his tray.

"You missed all the excitement." Beecher addresses the words to Miguel, but he's staring at O'Reily.

"So I heard." No point in pretending not to understand what Beecher's talking about. He really doesn't like the way Beecher is looking at O'Reily, though. His guard goes up.

"Wonder who's going to fill the vacuum. Torquemada had cornered a good bit of the drug trade."

O'Reily puts down his fork. "Shut the fuck up, Beecher. No one gives a shit about this."

He notices Busmalis' eyes grow wide at the tension, while Rebadow watches calmly.

Beecher snorts. "If you say so. Sorry, I didn't realize it was such a touchy subject." He chuckles and then takes a bite of his mashed potatoes.

The glare O'Reily gives him would scare a sane man, but Miguel ain't sure Beecher is sane, but then who the fuck is in the place. Still, he realizes he hasn't paid much attention to how Beecher has been since the whole Keller thing. Have a few screws come loose? Over the years, watching Beecher, he's learned not to underestimate the man.

It's Rebadow who cuts through the tension. "Ryan, I head that your mother is going to be coming back and continuing her performance art instruction."

"Yeah, she should be back in a few weeks."

"That's good. She's been missed here." Rebadow smiles.

The rest of the meal passes in idle chatter, but Miguel can't get Beecher's attitude toward O'Reily out of his mind. As they head out from dinner together, he asks O'Reily, "Something go down between you and Beecher?"

"Nah, he's just being his normal smart ass self, thinking he knows something when he don't know dick. I'll set him straight."

"How?"

Ryan laughs. "Don't worry. I ain't messing with Beecher. I know better. Besides he's just talking shit to pass the time like the rest of us. Nothing to worry about."

Miguel isn't convinced. However, later when they're watching television, he sees no visible sign of tension between Beecher and O'Reily. He guesses that's all it was—Beecher being nosy. Miguel recognizes some of his unease comes from having drowned himself in D-Tabs for so long that he lost the pulse on Oz's dynamics. He's a fish out of water.

He's almost glad when count is called, particularly as McManus hasn't assigned him a new podmate yet. Some time alone to sort out his thoughts, and get his mind straight is good. Except as the hours creep by, the walls seem to get closer, and Miguel remembers how much he hates being alone. He paces the small area of the pod until eventually exhaustion takes over, and he curls up on his bunk and falls asleep.

_It's dark. He raises his hand, but he can't see it. Kneeling, he touches the ground. It's somewhat moist, squishing through his fingers. His hands slide out from him, and his head hits some sort of wall. Except, it's not stable. It begins to tumble down on him, raining on his face, filling his nose. He knows what this is—it's mud, and he's being buried in it._

The flashlight of a hack making his nightly round wakes him. Miguel puts a fist in his mouth to cut off the beginnings of the scream and curls in on himself. No, not again. He remains awake throughout the night. Sleep no longer a compelling escape.

Next day, he avoids O'Reily's eyes and questions at breakfast. He doesn't want to talk about last night. Doesn't want to think. He walks around in the daze of the sleep deprived, spaced and yet hyper aware.

Mid-morning, O'Reily finds him and places a hand on his back. "We need to talk." He guides him toward the supply closet and when the door is closed, turns to him with worried eyes. "You okay?"

Miguel shrugs and turns away. He's still not ready to talk.

O'Reily puts a hand on his shoulder tugging so Miguel faces him. He squeezes Miguel's shoulder, thumb massaging the hollow of his neck. "Hey."

His world narrows to the feel of that touch, a sliver of sanity amidst all the madness. He wants more, tired of scraps of connection. Miguel rests a hand on O'Reily's hip and leans in and kisses him. For a second, he feels peace, and then he feels a hand on his chest lightly pushing him back, breaking the kiss. Realizing what he did, Miguel's heart pounds. "Shit, oh man, sorry."

He tries to back away, but O'Reily halts him by placing a restraining hand on the back of his neck. "Easy. Just not like this."

When he meets O'Reily's gaze, he looks nervous and maybe even a bit afraid. Perhaps they are both contemplating a jump off the same cliff. Somehow that thought calms him. Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Ok."

He feels O'Reily's hand drop from his neck and misses the touch immediately.

"Really ok?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Well we should go then. I'll head out first. See you at dinner?" The nervous fear is still in O'Reily's gaze, but concern shows there as well.

"Uh-huh."

A slight smile, and O'Reily is gone.

His body is tense, muscles tight, as if in anticipation. It's not a bad feeling, hovering on this ledge, although he struggles to put words to what these sensations are. Hope is too foreign a concept to remember clearly. Still as he leaves the storage room and walks across Em City, the rows of pods don't make him feel claustrophobic, and he doesn't feel so alone.

10  
***

The kiss shocked him, both that Alvarez had done it and his response to it. Before his brain kicked in, he'd liked it, felt a certain sense of rightness, which couldn't be. He wasn't a fag. He didn't.... As the panic had swirled, he'd pushed Alvarez back, but there'd been no disgust, just that feeling of whoa. Then he'd seen the look on Alvarez's face, that fear of loss, and reassuring him became more important than the panic. He had no idea where the words had come from, except, he thinks he meant them.

It's been two days since that kiss, and while neither of them have spoken of it, it's pretty much all he's been thinking about. He thinks it's all Alvarez has been thinking about as well. Or at least he hopes that's what's keeping him up a night, and something else isn't responsible for the circles under his eyes. Alvarez won't talk about the night. He really shouldn't be alone in that pod.

Screw it. He's been over thinking this for days. You'd think he was fucking Beecher. He's here for life. Who the fuck wants to be alone for life? No point in questioning a bit of luck tossed your way. And this has got to be a bit of Irish luck if there ever was some. And really he's already come to the decision because he's standing here being ushered into McManus' office.

"O'Reily make it quick. I don't want to have to look at you any longer than necessary." McManus leans back in his chair, and of course he's scowling.

"I want you to move Alvarez in with me."

"And why should I do that?"

"Because you know it's the best thing for Alvarez."

McManus stands up and walks around the desk and steps right into O'Reily's space. "Having nothing to do with you is what's best for everyone."

There's a knock on the door and McManus retreats back to the desk, putting both hands on the edge of it. "What?"

Murphy steps inside, closing the door behind him. "Everything okay in here?"

"It's fine." McManus's words are clipped, and he glares at Murphy, who raises an eyebrow.

McManus sighs. "I'll leave it up to Alvarez."

"Great, thanks."

"O'Reily, you make me regret this, I swear...."

"You won't regret it."

"Get the hell out of here, before I come to my senses."

Ryan knows an exit queue when he hears one. As he slips out the door past Murphy, softly he says, "Thanks." He also knows when a desired result comes about because of someone else's interference.

Just before count, his new podmate shows up.

"McManus really hates you," Alvarez says with a grin as he steps into the pod and puts his stuff on the bottom bunk.

"Tell me something new."

Ryan can't seem to stay still. There's a strange sense of anticipation running through his blood. He's sure that he means to say something along the lines of "mi casa es su casu" or some other shit that would have Alvarez rolling his eyes. Except, he says, "I'm the one that got you tossed into the Hole." He's not sure what the hell makes him blurt out that confession now—nerves, guilt—but he sure as fuck knows his timing is shit.

Alvarez sits on the bunk, body sort of collapsing, like a puppet with its strings cut. "Why?" His eyes have that blank look that Ryan fucking hates.

"Because it was the only way I knew of that would get you free of that goddamn vampire long enough to get clean and see what you were doing."

There's silence for a moment, and then Alvarez nods. "You were right."

"We okay?"

"Yeah. But, man, don't expect a thank you."

Ryan laughs. "Wouldn't dream of it."

After evening count is called, they pass the time playing cards. It's the most surreal game Ryan's ever played, and he could care less about the outcome. They talk very little, but oddly the silence doesn't bother him. He's too preoccupied with how Alvarez's hand keeps brushing against his, and how their knees are touching.

Lights out is called. After they climb into their respective bunks, the silence seems heavier, like the weight of an unwrapped gift. The hacks make their first round, and several minutes pass before Ryan calls out, "Miguel."

There's a pause, and then, "Yeah?"

He jumps down and sits on the edge of the bunk. As Alvarez moves closer, Ryan leans in and places a hand along the side of his face as he kisses him. There's no panic this time, just the clarity of him understanding why he gave a damn and couldn't let this go.

11  
***

Miguel wonders if there's such a thing as a common miracle. The type that makes the unbearable, bearable. A connected thread that gives you a reason to get up each morning and provides hope amidst monotony. If there is such a thing, he may have stumbled upon it.

As O'Reily's mouth descends on his neck, he thinks, _fuck, there ain't nothin' common about this_. Over the last few weeks, he's done things he never imagined doing, and it's all felt right, and so fucking good. It's a greater high than any damn D-Tab.

He can't get enough of these sensations—the warmth of skin pressing against him, the feel of muscles shifting beneath his touch. He slides his finger into the waistband of O'Reily's boxers, and O'Reily lifts his hips, letting him inch the boxers down and free his cock. As Miguel grasps the shaft, O'Reily says, "Oh shit yeah, just like that."

O'Reily talks a lot during sex, soft curses and encouragement. Miguel likes the sound of it.

When O'Reily reciprocates, impatiently shoving boxers out of the way, fingers sliding over the tip of his cock, Miguel moans softly. They stroke each other, hands and the touch of their cocks building friction. Right now this is his world, and it's fucking fantastic.

He's so close. O'Reily says something but the words are no more than a muted sound and a hot breath against his chest. The caressing hand on his hip tugs him closer, bringing him into contact with more skin, as his boxers tangle annoyingly at his feet. He moves faster, all his senses caught up in the rush. "Ryan." The name is a gasp, and then he's coming, a shock of whiteness. This is as close to flying as he'll ever get.

Despite descending into lassitude, he keeps stroking O'Reily's cock, wanting to hear the moment of his release. It doesn't take long.

"Fuck, yes."

Miguel likes the feel of O'Reily's cock pulsing in his hand.

Afterward, there's a moment of contentment, with neither of them moving, skin still touching, and his one arm slung over O'Reily's waist. The moment ends too soon.

"I should get back to my bunk," O'Reily says. "Next hack round should be soon."

"Yeah." He retrieves his boxers.

As O'Reily climbs out of the bunk, he drops a kiss on Miguel's lips making him smile.

It's not long before Miguel drifts off to sleep. He wakes after a few hours, not quite sure why. After a while of lying there unable to fall back to sleep, he gets up and walks over to the door. As he looks out at the darkness of Em City, seeing the rows of glass pods, the sense of suffocation comes upon him. But it's not an overwhelming panic like it once was, just a shower of melancholy.

He hears the sound of feet hitting the floor, and O'Reily is beside him, placing a hand on the back of his neck. "Ain't much of a view. You should go back to sleep."

The hand slides down to the middle of his back, and Miguel lets O'Reily guide him back to his bunk, but he doesn't lie down, sitting there instead. O'Reily sits on the bunk as well, moving until his back is against the wall. Miguel leans against him.

"You ever been to Australia?" O'Reily asks.

"No, that's a bit outside of hitching cross country."

"I always wanted to go."

"Yeah? Wasn't it founded as a prison? Thinking you'd fit in there?"

"Funny. Only one part. New South Wales was what was founded as a convict settlement in 1788."

Miguel smiles. "You're a man of surprising information, O'Reily."

"There's this thing called the Internet, and Beecher ain't the only one who can use it. Got bored, and started seeing what there was on Australia one day."

They're silent for a moment, and then Miguel says, "You know if I figure out a way to breakout out again, I'll let you in on it. We'll head to Australia."

Ryan laughs. "It's a plan." Then in a softer voice, he adds, "So you wouldn't leave me behind?"

"No way, man. We'd go farther together."


End file.
